The Problem with Sports - M.E. Clayton Page 0,8

voices spreading fake news.” I glared down at her son. “Specifically, a male voice.”

“It’s not fake news,” he argued. “It’s researched opinions.”

I narrowed my blue eyes at the kid. “What’s your name?”

“Grant,” he supplied, narrowing his little green ones right back.

“And where is your father, Grant?” I asked before glaring back at his mother. “Someone needs to right this wrong.”

“He’s probably at home,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not wrong.”

“Oh, but you are,” I informed the poor little confused dude.

“Opinions can’t be wrong,” he flung back. “They’re opinions.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” his mother said. She peered at me with those brown eyes of hers and you could see her visibly take a deep breath. “You need to leave, sir.”

“Mom,” her son rushed out, “you can’t kick Nathan Hayes out of our house.”

She turned to face him. “I’m pretty sure I can, Grant,” she said, breaking the news to him. “I don’t care who he is. He doesn’t just get to come into our house and…and…” She looked at a loss. “…challenge you on your right to have your own opinions.”

“I’m not challenging his opinions,” I lied. “I’m trying to set the kid straight since you obviously don’t care enough to do it.”

Her brown eyes narrowed at me, the threat in them clear. “It’s just sports,” she spat. “We’re not talking about the fate of humanity here.”

Did she just…?

Did she just say…?

Just sports?

I pointed a finger at her. “I’m going to go,” I announced. “But only because I can’t even look at you right now. Just sports? Really?”

“He’s got a point, Mom,” Grant said, the precious, adorable child that he was.

“Oh, sweet Heaven,” she mumbled.

“I’m going to go,” I repeated. “But I’ll be back.” I pointed towards Grant. “I am not going to just stand by and let you…leave him to his own devices.”

“Are you insane?” she asked.

I ignored her uncalled-for question and looked back at Grant. “This weekend-”

“I’ll be with my dad this weekend,” he said, cutting me off. “I go with my dad on Thursdays and don’t come back until Sunday. When I’m going to school, I go with him on Fridays and come back on Sundays.”

“So, he’s the one who takes you to games?” I asked.

Grant shook his head. “No,” he replied. “We’ve never been to any games.”

“Baseball games?”

He shook his head again. “No. No games. For any sport.”

I glared back at his mother. “I just can’t with you right now,” I growled at her before walking out of their condo, slamming the door behind me.

What kind of fucking father didn’t take his kid to sports games? Especially, a kid who was so obviously into sports. I couldn’t even throw the kid off with the PWA and PGP references.

I clearly needed to get to the bottom of this, and I was not going to let his hot as fuck mother distract me from what was important here.

No matter how hot she was.

No. Matter. How. Hot. She. Was.

Chapter 5

Andrea~

I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation.

I mean, I’ve had a lot of strange conversation with Rachel over the years, but this had to be the strangest by far.

“So…then…he just left?” she asked just as confused as I had been when Nathan Hayes had stormed out of my condo last night.

After the Nathan Hayes had slammed the door behind him last night, Grant had been appalled-absolutely appalled-that I had just let him leave like that. When I had broken it to Grant that I hadn’t let Nathan do anything, he had pointed out how I’d failed to offer the man any refreshments, enticing him to stay. But before I could defend myself, he had gone full-blown fanboy on me and had lost his mind over knowing that Nathan Hayes lived right above our condo.

And what a Nathan Hayes he was.

I was only five-foot-four, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell that he was at least foot taller than me. And he wasn’t lanky tall either. The man was a mountain of muscles and masculinity with a dark brown hair and bright blue eyes combo. His face was chiseled perfection, and he looked like he belonged on a box of Wheaties.

The man was simply gorgeous all over.

“Yeah,” I replied. “It was…weird.”

Rachel chuckled. “I still don’t understand how you didn’t know who he was.”

“I don’t follow baseball, Rach,” I reminded her.

“You don’t need to follow baseball to know who Nathan Hayes is, Andie,” she laughed. “Everyone who’s ever lived in this town knows who Nathan Hayes is. He’s a local boy